<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Ivy by invelaris</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28264782">Ivy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/invelaris/pseuds/invelaris'>invelaris</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst and Romance, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Flash Forward, Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, Malfoy Manor (Harry Potter), Slow Burn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:42:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,274</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28264782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/invelaris/pseuds/invelaris</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of the war, Hermione Granger is taken captive at Malfoy Manor under the guise of aiding the Death Eaters Pureblood propaganda. With her hand unwillingly promised to one of Voldemort's top ranking Death Eaters, she is to become the face of their revolution - the golden girl turned silver; in an unlikely twist of fate, Draco Malfoy is to become the face of hers. [ Inspired by the lyrics of Ivy x Taylor Swift ]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>37</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I worry this is quite short for an introductory chapter, but hope you enjoy! You can expect longer reads in the future.</p><p>FFN saw it first</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>So yeah, it's a fire<br/></em>
  <em>It's a goddamn blaze in the dark<br/></em>
  <em>And you started it<br/></em>
  <em>You started it</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Her lungs were aflame, each quick breath constricting painfully against her ribs as her feet pounded against dew-soaked grass; every muscle, every tendon of her arm screamed in protest as the figure in front of her tugged her forward, leading her from the wreckage like a lighthouse in a storm. That thought alone was enough to form the bubble of a giggle at the base of her throat, the sound lost amongst the oaks, the echoes of agonized screams, and the shatter of glass behind them. Moonlight caught on silvery strands of blonde hair, pale face washed out by the crescent as he turned back to her, a quizzical look in his eyes causing a knot between his brows. Her smile widened. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> She must have looked something mad, hair falling loose from where she had knotted it before retiring that night, the imprint of a masculine hand bruising a necklace across her, cheshire grin spread across her features. He stopped abruptly and her momentum kept her going, slamming straight into the broad expanse of his chest and nearly toppling them both - this time the chuckle came from him as he dropped her hand and brought both of his up to cup her face. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> His eyes were hungry, wolfish, as if he wanted to devour her right then and there. There was a part of her that desperately wanted him to. He twisted one hand back to the base of her neck, giving a gentle tug to draw her lips closer to his - and his kiss matched the look in his eye. His lips were grainy from soot, and his tongue tasted of ash as he slipped it between hers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em> The sound of a call wrenched them apart, over before they got to the good part, and Draco's eyes searched hers. Hermione nodded fervently at his silent question, a noxious mix of anticipation and fear roiling in her stomach. He dropped one whisper of a kiss against her lips and mirrored her movement, "Let's get the fuck out of here." </em>
</p><p>✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>
  <span class="u"> Three Months Earlier </span>
</p><p><em> This should be softer </em>, Hermione thought from where she lay on the floor, cheek pressed against the victorian-era rug, dark emeralds and greys differing vastly from the deep ruby and gold of the Gryffindor dormitory decor. Of course, the situation she had found herself in was vastly different than most of those she had found herself faced with during her time at Hogwarts, it seemed only fitting that the rug she was sprawled across didn't bring her the same comforts.</p><p>"Well, Bella, what are you planning to do with your plaything now? She isn't any good to us if she can't speak." She recognized the voice of Lucius Malfoy, previously the notes of a broken man, it seemed the bite had come back with the possibility of redemption. She heard Bellatrix huff a frustrated shriek.</p><p>Hermione knew she should turn her head, get her bearings, and push herself to her feet, but something kept her pinned down. She was paralyzed with pain, with fear, with the knowledge of the inevitable. <em> I should stand up, die facing them down, on my feet </em> , she thought, at the same time the incessant, <em> this should be softer </em>, swam across her brain again.</p><p>"Torture her, kill her, I don't bloody care. She <em> stole from me </em>," Bellatrix's voice had reached an octave that pierced the room, a needle wheedling into her eardrum, and Hermione felt the ground vibrate as the Lestrange woman approached her, "And now her bitty baby friends have gotten away from us. Again. What should we do with you, hm?"</p><p>Heavy lidded eyes dropped to Hermione's level as Bellatrix knelt down, tracing a fingertip down the side of Hermione's cheek. She imagined blood drawn from Bellatrix's talon against the soft flesh of her face and her breath quickened, another tear rolling down the side of her nose and dripping silently onto that godforsaken rug. Bellatrix's look conveyed condescension in a way only a Pureblood could master. She looked up at a figure who had crept up silently behind them, "Perhaps you would like to finish her off for us, Draco?"</p><p>"Use your brain, Bella," Lucius snapped, a third set of feet approaching what was now a trio, "If we kill her, we have no leverage. We can use the girl to lure back Potter. Right, Draco? They'd come back for this one, wouldn't they?" She felt the tip of cold leather nudge her back and she stiffened, waiting for what was sure to be a scathing response.</p><p>"I don't know, maybe," she could almost feel him shrugging behind her, and she couldn't help the finger of curiosity dragging its fingertip down her spine, "I guess. Yeah."</p><p>A final set of feet came close, another woman kneeling in front of Hermione. Narcissa's eyes were kinder, but housing the same cast-iron chill as those of her sister, she narrowed her eyes at her, inquisitive, "Give her to Nott."</p><p>✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>It had been Narcissa's idea. When they had paraded her around the dining table at Malfoy Manor, each Death Eater looking her up and down - Bellatrix and Narcissa with suspicion in their eyes, the rest of the men wetting their lips and grimacing hungrily, each of them with their own idea for how best to handle the female third of the Golden Trio. Yaxley had spoken up in agreement first, eyes cast down to mahogany, while Voldemort's never left her face. She had raised her chin haughtily, in an attempt to be brazen, and the snake had grinned as Yaxley droned on.</p><p>She was to be the face of their revolution, an olive branch to Muggleborns to make them partial to their plight, all a masked attempt to finish the cleansing of magical blood. As she heard Narcissa speak, heads beginning to nod in agreement as words such as <em> betrothed </em> and <em> pureblood agenda </em> were tossed out, acid burned the back of her throat as she fought to keep her words and her bile down. Feeling eyes on her, Hermione chanced a glance around the table, catching briefly on Narcissa's stare before landing on the culprit of the heat. Her nemesis from school, the grey eyes of Draco Malfoy snapped away quickly as she caught him staring. If she had hoped, even for a moment, that he might be her saving grace, the thought was thoroughly squashed as all eyes turned to him for his input, as a source who is more familiar with her.</p><p>"It would be a fine plan if we aren't accounting for the fact that the majority of the wizarding community aren't twats," Draco spat. Lucius, seated on his left, hissed his son's name and reached toward him, pinching the back of his neck with more force than was likely necessary. "I only meant she's not exactly a great actress. And who would believe we'd marry her off to a family of the Sacred Twenty-Eight?" The words lacked the edge she was familiar with, and if she didn't know any better, she would have sworn there was something remiss in his tone. The hand gripped tighter, a flush beginning to spread from the point of contact, "Nothing a well-placed Imperius can't fix, I'm sure," Draco gritted out, and relief flashed across Narcissa's face.</p><p>"I believe congratulations are in order, then," Voldemort hissed, and all heads twisted to face their leader once more as a malicious grin tugged the corners of his mouth north, "Nott, say hello to your new bride."</p><p>The bile crested over her tongue and Hermione heaved, citrus-hued vomit landing on the dragon leather shoes of Antonin Dolohov.</p><p>✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>She had paid heavily that night for the err of her stomach, petals of purple, yellow, and brown blooming across her ribcage. It seemed that the Death Eaters had moved on from magically amplified abuse and had resorted to Muggle tactics, an open palm to the face and knuckles to the side, and they assured her that that was mild in comparison to their less coveted captors.</p><p>This was how she found herself faced with a bedroom instead of a dungeon, Nott adamant that his bride remain in mint condition at the very least until their- Hermione couldn't even think the words, a shudder spiraling down her spine as she stood at the top of grand staircase in Malfoy Manor. Although she knew there to be the trio of Malfoys and a stream of Death Eaters coming and going, she had scarcely seen them.</p><p>Thus far, her prison sentence had been a battle of wills more than anything and she was fully convinced they were doing their best to break her down mentally before they pursued the physical attacks. She had tried everything she could to get a message out to Harry and Ron, to anyone in the Order, and each plot she formulated about a potential escape route proved futile. Her eyes scanned the foyer before she began descending, keeping her footsteps light to avoid unwanted attention before attempting to slip through a heavy door to the left of the staircase and running straight into the solid frame of -</p><p>"<em> Tsk </em>, Granger," Draco hissed, the tone of voice reminiscent of days of old; back before he had become a Death Eater and been knocked down a few pegs. "Where are you sneaking off to?"</p><p>"You tell me, Malfoy," Hermione hissed back, eyes attempting to peek over his shoulder to no avail given their height difference. His eyes narrowed at her and he shiftly ever so slightly, almost by mistake, and she caught a glimpse of the room beyond him. A myriad of shelves creaking beneath the weight of time-worn books. She couldn't help the gasp that slipped past her lips, "Is that- Is that a library?"</p><p>"No, you dolt, it's the kitchen," the words were punctuated by a sneer, and she again caught herself thinking of the vast contrast between the persona standing in front of her versus the one who had been so tentative with identifying and helping his supposed comrades the day before. "Yes, it's a library. I don't believe you've been given permission to enter, if I'm not mistaken."</p><p>"Then either grant me permission or run back and tattle to mommy and daddy." She was speaking braver than she felt, keenly aware of the fact that he was technically an initiated member of the Death Eaters and likely perfectly capable of anything they were. She was having difficulty separating Draco Malfoy the Death Eater and Draco Malfoy the Schoolyard Bully.</p><p>"Enter at your own risk, then. But don't be surprised if you run into Bella in the non-fiction section," Draco drawled, not bothering to shift out of her way, instead leaning casually against the doorframe to further block her out, "She's a big fan of the psychiatric studies that were done on Muggles in the early 1900s."</p><p>"I'm done with this," she huffed, spinning on her heel and marching back toward the staircase. She knew her tone had conveyed a message of annoyance but her heart pounded with fear at the mere mention of Bellatrix Lestrange, the note carved into her arm a cruel reminder that she would never be able to forget the madwoman.</p><p>"Your loss, Granger," Draco called after her, and she sensed something akin to disappointment in his voice. She glanced over the rail at him, still leaning against the door to the library and watching her ascend. Their gazes met and an unexpected heat filled her core at what she found in his, before he peeled himself off the frame and disappeared down the hall.</p><p>✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>Spine straight as an arrow, chest rising and falling with heavy pants, she was awake as suddenly as she had fallen; ears strained to hear any sound indicative of what had awoken her, any sound of trespass or approach to the door of the bedroom they had given her. She had placed a chair beneath the handle in a weak attempt to stop anyone getting in but she knew it was fruitless if anyone truly wanted to enter her assigned quarters.</p><p>Hermione tiptoed across the elaborately decorated room, feeling foolish - she was the princess locked in a pretty tower, a plaything, a doll for them to dress up and parade around, and a new wave of resolve to figure a way out of this coursed through her. Hand on the knob, she heard a faint creak and whipped her hand back as if the gold were on fire. Then whispered voices.</p><p>"Draco, darling, what are you doing up here?" The voice belonged to Narcissa, seeming to address her son who was… Attempting to break into her room? Guarding her door?</p><p>"Nothing." His answer was too quick and immediately followed by, "I mean, I was just getting some water. I was on my way back to bed."</p><p>"And at some point between the kitchen and here, you forgot what wing of the house your room was in?" The way Narcissa spoke to her son differed from the way she spoke with everyone else, the edges softened like butter, a gentle understanding of unspoken intentions, and a lack of her standard judgement that she offered everyone else.</p><p>Hermione twisted her neck closer to the door, palms pressed flat against the wood, hearing only an aggrieved huff and the muffled falling of footsteps in either direction. Her chest constricted and moisture pricked the corners of her eyes as she shoved herself away from the door, stumbling back to bed. As was becoming tradition, she cried until her lungs burned, until her ribs felt broken, until her silent sobs rocked her to sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapter two, at your service! Big thank you to those of you who humored me and read the first chapter - this one is a bit longer, so hopefully enough to keep you satiated until the third chapter is out next week!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The rumbling in the pit of her stomach had ceased, replaced by a sharp twinge deep in her gut. Hermione’s latest method of protest to her imprisonment came in the form of a hunger strike. If the situation weren’t so dire, it would have felt childish. As it were, she had ignored summonings from the house elves at her door to join the Malfoys at meals, opting instead to remain on her back, staring at the ceiling, and attempting to ignore the ache that had begun behind her right eye.</p><p>“Miss Granger.” Hermione shot up, the surface of her skin prickling at the sound of her name on Narcissa Malfoy’s tongue, her voice filtering through the door. “Believe me when I say none of us are pleased by the current situation. I can assure you that refusing to eat will not change that. Tiberius Nott will have my head if I pass you off to him emaciated.”</p><p>Hermione’s bottom lip dropped, disgust curling the upper as she flopped back against the satin pillows. She nearly laughed at the banality of it, the avid reader in her almost appreciating the irony of her situation. Distressed girl trapped in a prison of luxury, hand promised to a man with money if only to improve her station. The entire deal was practically primeval, all she needed was a white knight to come to her rescue to tie a ribbon around the twisted fairytale. </p><p>“Let’s not forget you are a prisoner here,” Narcissa snapped, impatience eking into her words. “A lucky one at that, all things considering.”</p><p>Those two syllables ignited a flame within her, a tendril of that old Gryffindor bravery warming her limbs as she stormed across the room and threw the door open, “Oh, how could I <em> possibly </em> forget just how <em> lucky </em> I am!” Hermione hated how shrill she sounded, her intention to remain calm, cool, and collected left between the bedsheets. </p><p>Narcissa took a step back calmly, raising an eyebrow at the state of the <em> lucky </em> girl in front of her. She hadn’t bothered to shower once in the five days she had been held there, hadn’t bothered to change out of the clothes she had been wearing, a stain of deepest ruby marring the grey fabric of her jacket’s left sleeve, and to truly play the part, she was near hysterics. </p><p>“You may be a prisoner here,” Narcissa kept her voice level this time as Hermione eyed her, the elder witch playing her next card with dexterity, “But I can guarantee the treatment you receive here will be far kinder than the next home you are to be Lady of.” She looked Hermione up and down once more, “Bathe. Change your clothes. I expect you downstairs for dinner.”</p><p>Hermione dug her nails deep into her palms, tongue clicking as her lips separated in uncontrollable shock. It would have taken someone far less intelligent than she to miss what was right in front of her, it was simple to guess exactly what Nott’s plans for her may be, but it didn’t make hearing the words voiced aloud any easier to swallow. </p><p>✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>If the memories of the last five days nagged her in sleep, they were pure torture beneath the heady stream of water. Steam wrought forth blood high in her cheekbones as she watched grime trail down her legs, aquafied tracks racing one another toward the drain, mingling with salt from the tears she was far too exhausted to even attempt to stop.</p><p>
  <em>Nimble fingers curled around her neck, the edge of a knife pressed flush to her skin, and the heat of Bellatrix’s breath against her ear as her head lolled, “Stop or she dies!”</em>
</p><p>Hermione reached up almost absentmindedly to the base of her throat, a subtle sting validating the accuracy of her memory of that day -</p><p>
  <em>They all complied, wands dropped and arms raised in a half-hearted surrender. An initially unidentifiable grinding giving the group pause. Bellatrix tossing aside Hermione’s limp figure as the chandelier dropped and shattered.<br/></em>
</p><p>Hands through her hair, when she pulled them away she noted a film of dust with a subtle sheen and tiny rocks of glass.</p><p>
  <em> Grey eyes latched onto hers before shaking hands came up to cover a blood-soaked face, miniscule cuts forming a lattice across pale skin. Ron’s hands rough beneath her as he pulled her from beneath the wreckage, Narcissa mirroring the actions for her son as he remained doubled over with his hands across his face. </em>
</p><p>She stared at her palms, at the half moons imprinted in the skin from her conversation with Narcissa minutes prior, and curled her fingers back into themselves to cover the damage.</p><p>
  <em>A new set of fingers latched onto her bicep and yanked, sending a tendril of pain lingering from Bellatrix’s artwork from the tips of her fingers to the curve of her shoulder. Ron lurched forward with his hand outstretched toward Harry, toward Dobby, toward escape, while Hermione twisted around and came face to face with Lucius Malfoy, his grip on her injured arm eliciting starbursts in her eyes.</em>
</p><p>She brought a knuckle up, nocking it between her teeth and biting down, the devastated scream muffled by her flesh and the pounding water. It was unnecessary for her to relive the moment after that, the moment she had made the choice that had cost her her freedom. The moment that Ron had glanced back at her, eyes widening at the figure behind her as his hand made contact and they begun to twist away; the sound of his bellow still echoing in her ears, the knowing glint of anger in his eye as they were swallowed by darkness and her knees buckled beneath her. </p><p>Back onto that goddamn rug. </p><p>She released her knuckle, ignoring the notches her bite had left, bringing an open palm up to her right cheek. It was likely in her head, she could easily recognize that, but she could swear she felt the faint traces of a carpet burn against the curve of her face.</p><p>✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>“Mother will be so pleased you decided to grace us with your presence.”</p><p>Hermione stood in the doorway, elbows sitting in hands in obvious discomfort. She had returned to her room post-shower to discover that the clothes she had been donning previously had been stolen from her, replaced by a tea-length silk skirt and cashmere sweater. She grimaced as she rubbed the fabric of each between her forefinger and thumb. It was ludicrous, insulting even, to play with her like this. She truly was their doll, a little puppet for them to pull off the shelf when they got bored.</p><p>And, yet, there she stood. In the outfit that had been picked and pressed for her, hovering in the frame of yet another room that was far too large and far too grand for someone like her. Or better yet, for a <em> prisoner </em> to have access to. Her eyes roamed over the deep wood table, elaborately set for a simple dinner at home, gaze finally landing on the boy at the far end. </p><p>“Are you just going to stand there all night? If you’d rather be served standing in the door, I’m sure it can be arranged,” he drawled, brow raised. “I didn’t peg you for someone to take advantage of house-elf servitude that way but to each their own.” </p><p>An indignant huff pushed past her lips as she inched further into the room, each step tentative as she approached the seat opposite Malfoy. She felt his gaze heavy on her frame the entire trek, and she clutched her elbows between her hands tighter, pressing them against the roiling tangle of nerves in the pit of her stomach.</p><p>“Where is she?” The question came out as a mere breath, the lack of speaking for the better half of her <em> visit </em> here taking her down a few octaves. “She was the one that insisted I join you this evening, after all. The least she could have done was greeted me at the door.”</p><p>“Death Eater business.” Draco quipped, giving a half-hearted shrug to punctuate the sentence. She noted the tension in his shoulders even as he feigned nonchalance. Her eyes narrowed involuntarily.</p><p>“And what? You weren’t on the guest list?”</p><p>“They needed me to stay here and keep a watch on…” He trailed off, shoulders going up and down again.</p><p>“On the prisoner,” Hermione finished for him. He gave her nothing but a blank stare as a house elf scurried from a door she hadn’t given much notice to. A porcelain bowl was placed in front of her, an intoxicating smell wafting up from the mild yellow liquid in the dish. </p><p>“It’s butternut squash,” Draco spoke from his side of the table, spoon full of the liquid as he brought it to his mouth in one clean bite. </p><p>The grace in the simple action served as a reminder of his wealthy purebred upbringing, the etiquette classes he had surely been enrolled in as a child serving him even now. It irritated her to no end as she dipped her spoon into the soup and brought it clumsily to her mouth, hands shaking from lack of practice and lack of nourishment. It irritated her even more that butternut squash soup was her favorite, and this was perhaps the best recipe she had tried.</p><p>“You should really slow down.” They had been sitting in silence for several minutes, Hermione ignoring the weight of Malfoy’s stare as she ate heartily. She looked across the table toward him, toward his nearly full bowl, then back down at hers, a few spoonfuls from being entirely empty. “You haven’t had anything in your stomach in at least five days. You’ll make yourself sick if you keep shovelling food in your mouth like that.”</p><p>“What do you care, Malfoy?” Even as she said it, even as she brought the spoon back up to her lips, a sharp pang lanced through her stomach. </p><p>“I don’t- I don’t <em> care </em> ,” Draco stumbled, and Hermione narrowed her eyes again. “But I’d rather not have to see your insides all over the carpet again so soon. Dolohov had to toss out his favorite pair of loafers because of you.”</p><p>“Oh, please do apologize on my behalf,” Hermione growled, anger rearing its head. “However will I repay him for my mistake?”</p><p>“I’m sure he has more than a few ideas in mind,” Draco said. “I’m sure him and Tiberius Nott have been having a bully of a time coming up with a list, in fact.”</p><p>Hermione clamped her mouth shut, teeth biting down on the tip of her tongue. The pang went through her stomach again, entirely unrelated to her empty stomach finally taking in sustenance after so long.</p><p>“You don’t know them as well as I do,” Malfoy stood as he continued, with a look in his eye as though he were challenging her. And having a grand time while he did it. “They seem unimaginative at first pass, but I know just how creative they can be. And with a little Mudblood like you?” </p><p>Hermione clenched her fist around her spoon as he circled the table and drew closer to her. She refused to give him the satisfaction of following his lead, refused to meet the stare she knew was planted on her, even as he stopped directly behind her chair. She held her gaze steady as her heart pounded - from her own fear, from his proximity, or perhaps a little of both - and he settled his arms on either side of her place setting, leaning down to her level.</p><p>“I can only imagine the plans they’ve concocted for you.” His breath warmed the shell of her ear, causing a layer of goosebumps to rise across her arms. She felt each beat of her heart in her eardrum, and she was certain he could hear it too. She felt the ghost of a touch against her neck, and it took her a moment to place it, “I could give you a little preview, if you’d like.”</p><p>She jolted at the words, at the fingertip he was trailing across the base of her throat and along the curve of her neck, pushing back from the table and straight into him. She felt his figure retreat before she’d even spun around to face him, “What are you playing at, Malfoy?” </p><p>He had a smirk on his face, lips twisted in what could have been pleasure or pain. She didn’t know him well enough to tell. </p><p>“Is this fun for you? Do you get to run off and give the Death Eaters a report about how easy it is to rile up their golden girl?” She felt tears prick her eyelids and anger blurred her vision; anger at him, for thinking this was all some sort of game, and anger at herself, for allowing him to see this reaction. “You’re disgusting.”</p><p>She pushed past him, shoulder nudging against his chest as she did so, and he caught her elbow before she could continue storming out of the room, “I may be disgusting, but at least I’m free.”</p><p>Hermione twisted her arm from his grip with more force than was necessary, a sickeningly pleased grin growing across her features as she did so, her eyes dropping to his left forearm, exactly where she knew his skin had been imprinted with the Dark Mark. “Don’t fool yourself, Malfoy. None of us are free, least of all you.”</p><p>✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>She had to get out. </p><p>She had spent the last three hours since the debacle at dinner staring at her ceiling, hating the warmth of the sweater she was still wrapped in, detesting the smooth feel of the silk against her calves, and thinking of all the ways that Dolohov and Nott could possibly come up with to torture her. She couldn’t help the way her eyes kept landing on her left arm; even with the wound covered, she could feel the words carved into her skin, and she knew that it would be child’s play in comparison to whatever the pair of them likely had cooked up.</p><p>Footsteps light, she made her way back to the door, carving the path from the grand staircase to the door she now knew housed the library. The Manor library was silent, dark, and it brought her equal parts anxiety and comfort, not knowing what the darkness held, if anyone would reveal themselves from the shadows or if she had the place to herself. She took a deep breath in, the smell alone bringing back a comfortable familiarity even in such a dire situation. </p><p>Hermione took off to the left, letting a finger trail over cloth and leather bound spines as she did so. The simplicity of being near books was clearing her head, drawing her attention from the present, and reminding her of the many hours she had passed pouring over novels in the Hogwarts Library. She had found a solution to the majority of her problems within those shelves, and she was certain she could do the same now.</p><p>She had spent what felt like hours wandering the rows, perusing the shelves for something to jump out at her when her eyes finally landed on a title, <em> Deliverance: Wizarding Communications for the Modern Witch and Wizard </em> . She pulled the book down, disappointed to find that it was roughly the size of a Muggle passport with just as few pages. She began to thumb through the slim title when the telltale <em> click </em> of a door opening and closing echoed through the room. </p><p>Hermione sucked in a breath, stashing the book into the waistband of the skirt she still had on as she began to back up. She had made it to the end of the row and breathed a sigh of relief as she turned the corner into the next, a brief shriek piercing the air as she ran straight into a broad-chested figure. </p><p>“Quiet, girl.” The slippery voice of Lucius Malfoy slithered through the darkness as she stumbled away from him, waiting for her eyes to adjust. A sheet of platinum hair came into view first, then the refined features of his face, so like his son’s but sharpened to cruelty in a way that Draco hadn’t grown into yet. “What, pray tell, are you doing skulking around the library at two in the morning?”</p><p>“I- I was just-” Hermione stuttered, each step of his forward was mirrored with a backwards step of her own. “I couldn’t sleep so I- I thought-” </p><p>“Pull yourself together,” Lucius snapped, even as Hermione backed straight into the bookshelf that expanded across the entire back wall and her eyes widened in fear. “Draco used to rant and rave about your intelligence, and here you are, unable to form even one coherent thought.” </p><p>Hermione stayed silent, trying to steady the drum beating against her ribcage, the blood that had rushed into her ears and fingertips. Lucius drew closer again. </p><p>“I don’t see it,” Lucius said. He reached out a hand, using one finger to draw a section of her hair away from her face, his fingertip barely grazing her skin in a manner reminiscent to that of Draco’s on her neck at dinner. His touch didn’t bring forth the reaction his son’s had, instead causing an uncomfortable chill to run the length of her spine.</p><p>“I don’t see the intelligence. I don’t see the beauty described in the stories I’ve been told. I don’t know how Nott can stomach the thought of being wed to you. Of putting his hands on you.” It was as if she weren’t present, as if this were his inner monologue coming to fruition and she wasn’t the intended audience. “Truth be told, I can’t imagine anything worse than being married off to a Mudblood. Even one of your… Supposed stature.”</p><p>“I can,” Hermione found her voice and regretted it instantly. She clamped her lips shut again as Lucius cocked his head to the side, one brow raised, and a condescending smirk playing on his lips.</p><p>“Ah,” Lucius murmured. He drew his hand back from her face as he continued to examine her; she felt as though an insect on a microscope, wings pinned as his stare pierced straight through her. “Enlighten me, then.”</p><p>Hermione opened her mouth and drew a breath, any manner of insult poised on the tip of her tongue, before she closed it again. Silence was safer, she had decided, especially with this particular member of the Malfoy family. She had heard tales of his ferocity, had seen it herself, and knew, sold off to another member of Pureblood society or not, he would not hesitate to use it against her. </p><p>“You’ve been lucky, up to this point, to have been given relatively free reign.” There was that word again - <em> lucky </em> . “You aren’t to go anywhere on the grounds without a chaperone. If you do, I will make sure you pay for it in kind.” </p><p>She nodded frantically, sidestepping Lucius and running the length of the room, the entirety of the grand staircase, and down the hallway into her room without glancing back or taking more than a single breath. Back against the door, she heaved as she sucked in air, the edge of <em> Deliverance </em> digging into her stomach each time she took in a breath.</p><p>✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>The <em> Daily Prophet </em> hit the table with a heavy smack, bold headline accompanied by a photograph of Tiberius Nott winking up at her drawing her attention. She hadn’t put up a fight this morning when she had been summoned, but the headline glaring up at her made her wish she had. <em> Pureblood Bachelor to Wed Golden Girl.  </em></p><p>An acrid taste began to burn at the base of her esophagus, the porcelain mug she’d been holding placed back on a matching saucer with a clatter. She couldn’t take her eyes off the photo, at the man winking repetitively in her direction. She had never gotten a decent look at the man she was set to marry behind the hood and the mask, behind the repressed memory of the night of their “engagement.” His features were aristocratic in nature, brunette strands of hair falling into his eyes as one lid fell over and over; crow’s feet settled in at the corners of his eyes, as if years of grinning and laughing had left a permanent mark. If only she didn’t know better. If only the grin he donned met his eyes, but she found only a clear, glittering brutality swimming in the depths of his pupils.</p><p>She swallowed as she looked away, trying to rid the sourness lingering in her mouth. She stared down into the dregs of her coffee, a Muggle addiction of hers, head spinning. Lightheadedness blurred her vision as she purposefully avoided the gaze of the two men in the room - Lucius Malfoy’s lingering frame behind her and that of Tiberius Nott grinning up from the <em> Prophet </em> . </p><p>“What’s this?” Draco’s voice rang out, light footsteps following as he joined his father. Hermione could feel both bodies towering over her, and her throat constricted. If she had felt trapped before, it was nothing in comparison to the claustrophobia she was feeling now.</p><p>“An announcement in the <em> Prophet </em> this morning. I thought our...” Lucius paused and Hermione stilled as her chair creaked beneath his hand curling over top of its frame, “ <em> Guest </em> here would want to see it.”</p><p>Heavy silence followed and Hermione waited for a blow to land - a sneer, another threat disguised as a come on, and received nothing but the whisper of movement as Draco left his father’s side and strolled around to his side of the table, dropping into the seat without a word. </p><p>“Was there something else?” Hermione found her voice at last, the question directed at the elder Malfoy still standing behind her, not bothering to turn in her seat to address him directly.</p><p>Another piece of paper landed atop the <em> Prophet </em> , a rectangle cut from a rich material, her own name in conjunction with Tiberius Nott’s calligraphed across the top. <em> You’re invited </em> . An invitation detailing a ball in “the happy couple’s honor” in two days’ time. </p><p>A breath whistled through her teeth as Lucius laid a palm on her shoulder and squeezed. She was reminded of that first night, the way his fingertips had dug into his son’s neck, the imprint it had left behind. She resisted the urge to squirm away from him. “We couldn’t very well have a celebratory ball without the guest of honor, now could we.”</p><p>Hermione stood on shaky feet, twisting to face him with every intention of giving him a piece of her mind, Draco interrupting her before she could even begin. “Wear something nice, Granger,” she could feel the stretch of his mouth in the mocking manner he had, “Or Nott might decide you’d be of greater use to him dead.”</p><p>“Excuse me,” Hermione gasped out, hating herself for a false nicety to replace the cutting remarks she had tucked into her cheek. She exited as quickly as her feet would allow her to without breaking into an all out run, stumbling back into the room that had somehow become her only solace.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi friends remember that time a month and a half ago when I said I would have chapter three out a week after I posted chapter two? Haha, me too!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Mere hours following the ambush at breakfast, Hermione sat cross-legged in the center of her bed, scouring the contents of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deliverance</span>
  </em>
  <span> for what must have been the hundredth time. A piece of her knew the repetitive exercise was all in vain - the letters, the words, the methods hadn’t changed since the last time she had combed the pages, if anything they had simply morphed from helpful to hateful. Without a wand, the only alternatives offered for the so-called modern witch were for those who had access to an owl or the floo network, of which she had neither.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her muscles twitched involuntarily and her right foot had begun pricking needles into the arch due to lack of movement, but even so, she flipped the book back to the front cover and opened it to the first page once again. Surely the one hundred and first time would be the charm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>In the 20th century, there is nary an excuse for the modern witch or wizard to be disconnected from their peers… </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Miss Granger? Excuse me, miss?” The creaking of the door was followed by a high-pitched voice piercing the silence and Hermione jerked, eyes widening at the sudden appearance of a house elf in her bedroom. She fisted her hands into the sheets, adjusting the fabric to cover the book laid out on the bed. “Tippy has been sent to retrieve you. Lady Malfoy is requesting your presence for tea in the ballroom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione resisted the urge to snap at the creature in front of her, the elf’s eyes like orbs sparkling in her direction, the old Muggle adage, </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t shoot the messenger</span>
  </em>
  <span>, replacing the response she had locked and loaded. She nodded silently, further mussing the covers as she stood to ensure any evidence of the book was well-hidden between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bare feet of the house elf pattered against the floor as Hermione trailed in her wake, her brain a few paces behind. She watched the small figure in front of her - donning a pillow case that she imagined to be similar to that of Dobby when he first presented himself to Harry at Privet Drive, leathery ears flopping with each movement, and Hermione realized what she had wanted to find in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deliverance</span>
  </em>
  <span> and hadn’t. The house elf, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>any</span>
  </em>
  <span> house elf really, could quite easily become her ticket out of the Manor. Her hand was arcing through the air to clap against her forehead, feeling somewhat foolish for the thought having not occurred earlier, especially given the circumstances of her near escape the week prior, but she brought her arm down before her palm made contact. If anyone were to have eyes on her, and she figured odds were more than likely that they were, only a blind man would miss the lightning bulb that had flashed in her eyes. She’d be damned if she let human habit give any further clues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hermione, dear,” Narcissa greeted her upon entry to the ballroom as if she were an old friend, a guest she had invited over to enjoy afternoon tea and gossip. Hermione wanted to keep her eyes on the woman in front of her but curiosity had hooked a finger into the collar of her shirt and given a harsh tug, and thus, she found herself taking her wary gaze off Narcissa Malfoy in favor of taking in the room at large.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marbled tile gleamed up at her, sleek enough for her to see her own reflection, while wainscoting hugged the perimeter of the room; a double descending staircase arced against the far walls, a massive chandelier raining down, and Hermione could imagine it in great detail - the balls, the parties that must have been held here in Draco’s childhood. A platinum blonde head roving throughout the finely dressed crowd, chasing an infantile Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. Or rather fast forward to adolescence, a delicately-laced trio sneaking glasses of champagne from passing house elves, getting drunk on the bubbles and the adrenaline from pulling a fast one over their parents.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, sit,” Narcissa cut across her reverie, and Hermione started. She knew absolutely nothing of Draco Malfoy’s childhood, and picturing some gilt-edged, idyllic youth was hardly a good use of her brainpower. She took a seat opposite Narcissa and crossed her arms, a blank stare turning her features to stone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know that Michelangelo was a wizard?”  Narcissa nodded her head at the house elf that lingered in the doorway, little feet slapping against marble as the creature scurried closer and began the tea service. Then Narcissa tipped her head up and Hermione followed suit to take in the vibrant frescoes lining the circular ceiling that she hadn’t noticed around the chandelier previously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did.” Hermione responded brusquely, trying for unimpressed, and Narcissa raised an eyebrow at her. Hermione began to recognize the expression as a go-to of Narcissa’s, but was still unable to fully decipher the true meaning of it. “Why is that important?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it isn’t,” Narcissa brought her teacup up to her lips and took a swallow. Hermione was once again gripped by the grace in the movement, so like her son’s. And so unlike her own. “However, most aren’t aware that an artist of his prowess was. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you do. Draco used to go on these absurd tangents about your own prowess, although more academic than artistic from what I’ve gathered.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione remained silent, the comment rattling in her head and mingling with the words of Lucius Malfoy from their altercation in the library. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Draco used to rant and rave about your intelligence.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She tucked it away for later, something to dwell on in the comfort of her own room. The two women stared at each other in silence, Narcissa bringing her teacup up to her lips every so often, Hermione’s arms remaining twisted around one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why am I here?” Hermione finally blurted, unable to stand the silence for a moment longer. The corners of Narcissa’s mouth turned up in triumph, and Hermione resisted the urge to pick up her own teacup and dump the contents on Narcissa’s lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I felt it was time for us to have a chat, woman to woman,” Narcissa responded lightly, setting her teacup down gently and clasping her hands over her crossed knees. Hermione immediately grew wary of the faux relaxation in her stance, the lightness of her syllables; she felt the air grow heavier, sure that whatever came out of their woman-to-woman-chat would cause roughly the same amount of damage as a hand grenade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As you know, your nuptials to Tiberius Nott are just on the horizon. What you may not know is that he is quite taken with you,” Narcissa said, each word causing Hermione’s intestines to coil painfully. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Quite taken with you</span>
  </em>
  <span> was certainly nothing positive for a man like Tiberius Nott. “You should also know that he is quite particular about certain traditions.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione felt breathless, and an uncomfortable tingling had begun in each of her fingertips. It was as if her body could predict what was coming before her brain had a chance to catch up. She curled her hands into fists beneath her elbows, unable to determine if it was panic or anticipation or a nauseating mix of both that had caused her palms to begin to sweat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll be blunt with you, Miss Granger, and in turn, I expect you to answer in honesty,” Narcissa continued, “Tiberius Nott expects traditions to be upheld between a man and his wife. He requires that his future bride be untouched.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione caught a gasp between her teeth, not wanting to give the woman across from her the satisfaction of shocking her, and waited for the inevitable question that she knew Narcissa had poised on the tip of her tongue. She bent her neck slightly to the right, forcing an inquisitive look onto her face, and waited with bated breath - if she wasn’t going to give Narcissa Malfoy the gratification of knowing she had shocked her, she certainly wasn’t going to make the line of questioning any easier for the woman either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you a virgin, Miss Granger?” And there it was. Narcissa held the pull ring in her hand, and Hermione had the hand grenade sitting on her lap. She stared down blankly where the metaphorical bomb should be, surprised to find only the fine fabric of the skirt that had been lain out for her that morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chewed on the question, the truth and the lie both tasting bitter in her mouth. The truth would save her life, but the lie would likely end it. The truth: she had been kissed by two boys in her entire life - the first in the form of Viktor Krum during their fourth year; the second, Cormac McLaggen the year previously. A tipsy mistake after Gryffindor had clinched the Quidditch Cup and Hermione felt she had something to prove, a mistake she had elected not to disclose to a soul apart from Ginny. She knew that either instance would be parried away as chaste, chance encounters. The lie: she had slept with someone, anyone, and was as such decidedly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> untouched. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she thought about her future under the thumb of Tiberius Nott, she almost felt the latter would be the safer, less tortuous option. But then she thought of her copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Deliverance</span>
  </em>
  <span> tangled in her sheets, and of the house elf that had come to escort her down the stairs, and the flicker of hope that warmed her belly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Y-yes,” Hermione finally sputtered out. This time, she wanted to dump the contents of her teacup onto her own lap for how weak her response was. “I am.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful.” Narcissa’s face cracked into a smile as she finished off her tea. Hermione saw a wave of relief cross the woman’s eyes and not for the first time in the duration of their conversation, she tucked the observation away to pull out and examine once she was alone. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Narcissa expressed an unusual gratitude and set her empty cup down, the house elf scurried back over and began to collect the empties, and Hermione realized she was being dismissed. Without a word, she stood and made to leave, and found her exit blocked by the lissome frame of Draco Malfoy in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We have got to stop meeting like this,” Draco said, his tone laced with dark humor as he continued to block the door and her only means of escape. Hermione glared up at him in response, his grin broadening as she did so. She made to sidestep him and he mirrored her movement, keeping the pair of them locked in the door frame.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Draco, please,” Narcissa called out, vague annoyance lining the syllables of his name, “How many times must I tell you not to play with your food?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Draco’s lips split to cheshire-like proportions at his mother’s words, and Hermione scoffed with disgust, shoving past him into the hallway. The door swung on its hinges, dissecting his footsteps as he approached Narcissa in the middle of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She didn’t drink any of her tea,” Hermione heard Narcissa say, her tone affronted, then Draco’s voice in reply, “She doesn’t drink tea, mother.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>✥   ✥   ✥</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her footsteps were a whisper against the rug beneath her feet but she felt she could see the material beginning to wear from her incessant pacing. Since her conversation with Narcissa that afternoon, Hermione had made herself dizzy with the motions, fives paces forward, a twist on her heel, and five paces back the way she had come, anything to pull her mind away from the inevitable. Unless she seduced a house elf in her favor, at the minimum enough so to ensure that a message would be delivered on her behalf, there were no other alternatives to save herself from the fate of being relegated to the pseudo-bride of Tiberius Nott.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unless. Unless. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Unless</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Every several turns, the musings of both Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy would mingle as one and aggravate the dizziness more so. While ranting and tangents were not necessarily synonymous with positive leanings, there had been an underlying current in each of their comments that had lent something more. And each time the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>unless</span>
  </em>
  <span> attempted to unravel her focus, the events of the last week replayed in her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy’s refusal to adequately identify the trio when they had been unceremoniously presented to the occupants of Malfoy Manor. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You had intentionally made yourselves unrecognizable</span>
  </em>
  <span> became an easy enough excuse to write this one off as a legitimate mistake on his part. Next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malfoy’s nonchalance when Lucius had asked if Harry and Ron would come back for them. Next.  Malfoy’s general air of disagreement when Narcissa had first presented the idea of Hermione’s betrothal to Nott. Next again. Malfoy’s mild concern over her well-being when she hadn’t eaten, if she could even consider it that. And again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She doesn’t drink tea, mother</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if Malfoy had somehow become partial to her, based on the extremely bereft evidence she had, Hermione felt certain that no feelings of his were possibly strong enough for her to exploit them to her advantage. If she had any earthly idea how to do so in the first place. Her ankle twinged as she spun again, beating a now familiar path in the opposite direction, a plan beginning to formulate of its own accord.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unless, unless, </span>
  <em>
    <span>unless.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>✥   ✥   ✥</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, Hermione dreamt of a figure pressing her against a doorframe, of Narcissa Malfoy perched on the grand staircase above them, calling down to ask her how she takes her tea, all while his lips traced fire across her collarbone. She began to choke, likely from the spark he had ignited in her belly, tendrils of smoke weaving between each of her ribs and tying a bow around her trachea, or otherwise from the pressure that had been building on either side of her windpipe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His fingertips, pressing and pressing and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pressing</span>
  </em>
  <span> against the curve of her neck. In the dream, she expected to see betrayal in Draco’s eyes when she opened her own, but all she could see were oxygen deprivation induced starbursts dancing between them. When they finally cleared, shock snuffed the flames as though sand on a pit as her frantic gaze met that of Tiberius Nott. He laughed, his expression feigned charm and mingled with the mania in his eyes, and he closed his fist around her throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she woke, her mouth had formed an ‘O’ in a silent scream, yet past the fear drumming against her body courtesy of the latter male, she could feel a not entirely unwelcome heat of a flush licking across her skin just as the former had in her dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✥   ✥   ✥</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the brief interruption, the remainder of her sleep was devoid of fitfulness, and though Hermione knew she may change her mind if she did take pause to wonder about the reasoning behind it, she marked it as a win. As her head had formulated a plan of its own accord, taking absolutely no account of her heart, she knew she would have to take them where she could get them, no matter how miniscule. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thus she found herself sitting before the vanity in the room, turning her head to observe each of her angles and expressions, attempting to determine which would suit her best in manners of seduction. That word alone was enough to once again elicit the subtle buzzing of irritation against her skin and she watched as her upper lip curled in disgust. She had been fighting her involuntary reactions for the past half hour, but she still had yet to master controlling her face each time she reminded herself that she had somehow deluded herself into thinking that seducing Draco Malfoy was her key to escape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, she hadn’t completely ditched the idea of getting a house elf on her side but given her history of drawing up meticulous plans only to have the execution skewed the day of had taught her well enough to always have a back up plan. But Hermione was no fool. Even as she caught her own eye in the mirror and forced a smile onto her face, forced brightness into her eyes, forced her fingers to pinch her cheeks gently to bring forth a warm flush, she recognized that she would never come close to the level of beauty of Draco’s past paramours (of which she knew only one), and could easily deduce that it would have to be the beauty of her mind (of which she knew to be a source of great perterbance for him) that would enrapture him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although… There was no harm in at least trying. Unsure of the exact brand of bonding magic between the Malfoys, the Manor, and their house elves, Hermione cleared her throat tentatively before calling out, “Tippy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The tiny creature presented herself immediately with a loud crack, the tip of her nose practically brushing the carpet as she bowed in acknowledgment. Even this minor act of entrapped etiquette made the base of her throat burn, and here she was, contributing to it by </span>
  <em>
    <span>summoning</span>
  </em>
  <span> the house elf rather than searching for her herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, miss?” Tippy’s hands were clasped together across the tiny expanse of her chest, the whisper of a smile sitting on her face. Hermione couldn’t tell if it was a smile meant for her or if it was always present, but she felt comforted just the same.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was wondering if,” Hermione paused, clearing her throat again. “You see, if I’m to attend this ball the day after next with my future-” She choked on the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>husband</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and swallowed it whole, “With all of the Malfoy’s friends, I was hoping you could help me gather some things to look more presentable. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tippy’s head tipped slightly to one side at her nicety, but responded with no hesitation, “Anything miss wants, miss can have. Within reason, Missus Narcissa says.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione’s teeth clenched briefly in annoyance before she forced the smile back onto her face and met her eyes once more in the mirror before twisting to fully face Tippy, taking a deep breath and starting at the top of her list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>✥   ✥   ✥</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she finally emerged for breakfast, a hum of satisfaction clung to her skin in much the same way the champagne-coloured silk dress did as she strolled toward the chair furthest away from the trio of Malfoys. She didn’t miss the subtle curling of Narcissa’s lips into an elegant smirk, nor did she miss the clenching of Lucius’s jaw as his eyes trailed the length of her body, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>certainly</span>
  </em>
  <span> didn’t miss the heat of Draco’s gaze against her, or the way his eyes narrowed when she finally took her seat and gazed back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for joining us, Hermione,” Narcissa said politely, and Hermione’s gaze snapped away from the woman’s son straight to her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say that as if it were optional,” Hermione quipped, eyes never wavering from the elder woman’s. The adrenaline of formulating a plan had wrought forth the courage she had been missing during their conversation the previous afternoon, while the thought of an adept execution had elicited the missing confidence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you plan to take advantage of our hospitality,” Lucius drawled, nodding his head in her direction, indicating the fine fabric she had draped over her, the rouge and highlight making her sparkle, “It would serve you well to mind your manners.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> as if she has any,” Draco said smoothly, mimicking her tone from moments prior. He stared in her direction, the curvature of his neck exposed as he cocked his head to one side, his tongue sliding across the tips of his teeth as a smug grin spread across his face. Hermione glanced away, flashes of her dream the night before causing heat to spread across the back of her neck. “You can’t expect much from a Mudblood with no access to classical training.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’d expect much more from a Pureblood elitist who did,” Hermione hissed, the warmth of satisfaction replacing that of embarrassment once more as his features darkened and his mouth opened with what was surely a fine-edged retort.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you’re done,” Lucius cut in, annoyance tingeing the words as he glared first at his son, then in her direction, “There are more important matters at hand to be discussed.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hermione watched Draco’s nostrils flare as he backed down, the look on his face telling her that she certainly hadn’t heard the end of his rant about her manners, or lack thereof, despite his father’s admonishing. She pursed her lips, refusing to inquire about the “more important matters”, as was surely expected of her, instead opting to over cream the coffee that had been placed to her left. The subsequent moments of awkward silence were broken only by the clinking of her spoon against delicate china, further exemplifying her lack of etiquette as the three Malfoys watched.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As Lucius was saying,” Narcissa began, “More important matters. Hermione, I’d like you to accompany me to the shops today. There are a few dresses on hold for you for tomorrow evening that will need tailoring.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Are you asking or are you telling? </span>
  </em>
  <span>The question settled on her tongue like a candy, the sudden possibility of an escape route dissolving the sour before it had a chance to bite. Instead, she brought the steaming mug of coffee up to her lips, eyes landing on each of the Malfoys in turn as she did so. A stony glare for Lucius, a candy floss smile for Narcissa, and a cocky smirk for Draco before she tipped the contents of the cup into her mouth, the coffee scalding the surface of her tongue as she took a noisy gulp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would love to.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>What? Two updates in one week? Who is she?</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She was an idiot. In the moments after Narcissa’s pseudo-suggestion for accompaniment, Hermione had managed to convince herself of a small victory. She would be out of the confines of the Manor for the first time since they had taken her prisoner, she would have her first real chance at a bid for freedom… What she had not anticipated, rather foolishly, was the binding spell Narcissa Malfoy placed upon her as they made preparations to leave. </p><p>She was a complete and utter <em> idiot </em>.</p><p>Narcissa took a step forward and Hermione felt a phantom tug behind her navel, pulling her forth with each step Narcissa took, the elder woman glancing over her shoulder to admire her handiwork. As she did so, Hermione could once again feel the weight of a heavy stare on her, courtesy of Draco, who leaned against the stair railing, watching them. If she hadn't been magically reduced to Narcissa Malfoy’s new pet on a leash, she would have stomped over and slapped the grin straight off his face, and laughed as his eyes did in that moment. She could practically hear the inappropriate comment begging to drip off his tongue. She wasn’t given a moment to spare on wondering about the shiver that ran down her spine at the thought, an aggressive pull jerking her forward and away from his incessant lingering.</p><p>“There’s no point dwelling on it,” Narcissa said as she continued walking through the hall into the elaborately decorated foyer and out the front door to what Hermione assumed to be an Apparition point. It was almost as if she could read every ire-ridden thought marching across Hermione’s brain. “The alternative would have been much worse.”</p><p>Hermione stayed silent, glaring at the woman’s back until she spun on her heel to face her, reaching out to grasp onto Hermione’s slender wrist, “We would have gone by floo but as we couldn’t guarantee the outcome of that wouldn’t have ended in you… <em> Leaving </em> us, we felt this was the safer option.” </p><p>As she found her footing on uneven cobblestones moments later, she felt her lungs expand in relief. She had always found Apparition to be an unpleasant feeling to begin with, being magically shackled to someone had made it infinitely worse. Narcissa took off without turning back to see if the binding held, the invisible chain between them catching Hermione off guard and causing her to stumble over her own feet as she was forced to trail behind Narcissa.</p><p>Although the plaza Hermione found herself in was entirely unfamiliar, the row of shops were clearly magical in nature and far more high end than what she was used to. An ache in the pit of her stomach began to pulse, separate from the magical tether binding her to Narcissa; an ache for the shabby familiarity of Diagon Alley, for the distinct smell of books lining the walls of Flourish and Blotts, for a triple-decker cone from Fortescue’s dripping down her fingers to make her palms sticky in the heat of summer. She felt the tell-tale prick of moisture along her eyelids as the wave of nostalgia crashed over her, but she blinked them away as quickly as they had come, refusing to allow any of the Malfoys to witness her emotional torment.</p><p>Narcissa stopped abruptly in front of an alabaster storefront before she pressed a hand to Hermione’s back, pushing her through a glass door with a duo of linked ‘P’s hanging overhead. Being as <em> common </em> as Draco Malfoy liked to think, the logo was unfamiliar to her, but the sinking in the pit of her stomach had become just the opposite in recent days, mingling with an unfortunate shock of recognition at the figure striding toward them.</p><p>“Narcissa, dear!” The woman exclaimed, grasping Narcissa’s shoulders and placing an airy kiss on either cheek. She was tall and lissome, with midnight black hair pulled into a tight chignon at the nape of her neck; it took Hermione a moment to place the feeling of recognition that had run through her, for she was certain she had never seen the woman before. Her eyes drank in the elder woman’s features, coming to rest on the distinct nose of that of the Parkinson bloodline. “We’ve been expecting you.”</p><p>It was at this moment that both women turned to face Hermione, each of them carrying themselves with an elegant haughtiness that Hermione would never dream of achieving. She could feel her slouched shoulders, the flush creeping up her neck as they looked her up and down; she felt as though a weathered stump beneath a duo of towering willow trees. “My daughter never spoke kindly of you before, Ms. Granger,” she sent a knowing glance in Narcissa’s direction, humor drawing the corners of her lips north, “I can see why.” </p><p>The flush deepened and Hermione’s fingers curved into her palms, nails digging into her skin. Even in her vain attempts to clean herself up and make herself presentable in some vile delusion that she could make Draco Malfoy sympathetic to her plight, she earned contempt. Her self-awareness allowed her to recognize that she was a people pleaser to an extreme, and it came as no surprise to her that their disapproval gnawed at her, but she still hated herself for it. They continued to stare in silence, all three parties refusing to break first, until Mrs. Parkinson curled her finger in a silent <em> come </em>, leading the way to the back of the shop.</p><p>“We’ve put the items you requested on hold,” she gestured toward a rack practically groaning beneath the weight of chiffon and silk and elaborate beading, “Although I’m not sure why you’re bothering to go to so much trouble for her.”</p><p>“Tiberius is insistent that she not only plays the part, but looks it as well.” Narcissa said as she brought a hand up, grasping the material of one gown between her fingers. Hermione swallowed the bile threatening to spill onto her tongue at the words. “Hermione, please,” Narcissa waved her closer, the invisible chain tugging her forth at the gesture.</p><p>The next thing she knew, she was being shoved into a dressing room the size of a small but elaborate walk in, the rack of gowns following minutes later. It wasn’t until a girl of about her stature sauntered around the rack that she realized the rack hadn’t rolled in of its own accord, but had been pushed by a girl who, Hermione was ashamed to admit it, had haunted more than one of her dreams.</p><p>“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” Pansy asked, a sardonic sweetness lining the words. She stepped into Hermione’s personal bubble and grabbed her by the shoulders, long nails digging in as she twisted Hermione to face the mirror. “Tiberius Nott is under some kind of delusion that we can make you look less like the bedraggled Mudblood minger I know you to be, but let’s not get it twisted,” Hermione met Pansy’s eyes in the mirror, jaw clenched as Pansy’s nails dug in deeper, “Putting a dress on a mutt doesn’t make it a purebred.”</p><p>Hermione spun, a hot lance of anger heating her entire body, just as Pansy shoved their frames apart; the curve of one shoulder slammed into the edge of the dress rack, a sliver of exposed metal slicing a clean line through Hermione’s sweater, blood beading on the smooth surface of her skin. A hiss slipped past her teeth as her hand reached for her wand by habit, coming up empty. Pansy’s grin broadened at the disappointed realization coloring Hermione’s features at her lack of a magical defense.</p><p>“If you’re done insulting me, can we just get this over with?” Hermione was surprised by her own lack of resolve, it seemed she had left her fight back at the Manor. </p><p>“Oh, but I’m just getting started.” Pansy replied, but no additional insults came Hermione’s way at that moment. Instead, Pansy reached out and grabbed the hem of Hermione’s sweater, tugging it north. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Hermione screeched, stepping out of reach of the other girl, who continued descending upon her.</p><p>“My job, for Merlin’s sake. How daft are you?” Pansy said, grasping the hem again and yanking it over Hermione’s head. Hermione folded her arms across her body quickly, a smattering of goosebumps rising across her arms at the sudden exposure to the cool air. Pansy smirked again as she took in the dainty underthings Hermione had donned that morning, back when she was feeling optimistic. </p><p>Hermione stood in silence as Pansy gently lifted a chiffon gown off the rack, the fabric pooling at Hermione’s feet. “Step in,” Pansy commanded, and Hermione obliged without argument. She could feel Pansy continuing to eye her as she began to do up the buttons lining her spine. “What’s with this?” Pansy stood quickly behind her, snapping the delicate lace of her bra strap. “Already trying on things for the wedding night? I’ve heard that Tiberius prefers something a bit more racy.”</p><p> “What makes you think these are for Nott?” Hermione asked simply, she glanced over her shoulder as she made her way toward the curtain separating them from the other two women. She raised an eyebrow, letting the insinuation linger between them, “You seem to have forgotten just whose home I’m locked up in right now. You know Draco better than I do, Pansy, surely you haven’t forgotten <em> his </em> preferences.”</p><p>✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>Her victory was short-lived, if you could even call it that. After spending the last three and a half hours being poked and prodded by Pansy behind the curtain, and dealt backhanded insults by her mother in front of it, Hermione was utterly spent. Only Narcissa had treated her with any sort of dignity, but feigned respect left her feeling more hollow than if Narcissa had been as outrightly cruel as the other two women had been. And as the rest of the Death Eaters would certainly be. </p><p>As they traipsed back across cobblestones, Hermione always a half step behind Narcissa, she let her eyes travel across shop displays, looking for any sign of a familiar face, or a bit of news on the boys. She had heard rumors of shops closing their doors indefinitely, of owners going missing along the way, but the street they found themselves on was as bustling as ever, finely dressed men and women going in and out of more finely decorated storefronts. </p><p>“Miss Granger!” Hermione whipped around at the familiar voice, the link between her and Narcissa clenching the breath out of her as she did so. She felt the air return to her lungs as Narcissa stopped and echoed her movement to take in the woman who had called for her. A one-time nemesis turned co-conspirator, Rita Skeeter waltzed toward them, donning a putrid green manicure and matching pantsuit. “Oh! And how lovely to see you, Mrs. Malfoy,” Rita addressed Hermione’s companion with sincere surprise, a smile slowly beginning to break across her face as she looked between the unlikely pair.</p><p>“Rita, likewise,” Narcissa greeted the woman with a stiff smile. Narcissa turned away, failing to bother with other niceties, making to continue their trek back to the Manor when Rita reached out a hand to stop them.</p><p>“Are the rumors true, then?” Rita’s fingers twitched in excitement,, and Hermione could practically feel her quill twitching in equal anticipation in the depths of the bag Rita had slung over her shoulder. “How about an exclusive for <em> Witch Weekly? </em> Think of the headline, Hermione,” Rita’s eyes widened as she brought both hands up and mimed a marquee over her head, “ <em> Golden Girl Ties The Nott </em>.”</p><p>“We really must be going,” Narcissa gestured for Hermione to follow before Hermione had the chance to respond, turning away from the reporter. Hermione glanced at Narcissa as they did so, the calculating look behind the woman’s eyes causing a cloud of trepidation to unfurl within her. She could see the wheels turning, and the cloud darkened as Narcissa turned her head a fraction of an inch to call back, “We’ll be in touch, Rita.”</p><p> ✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>Hermione lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, twin tracks of tears racing from the far corners of her eyes into her hair. </p><p>When they had returned from their outing, Lucius Malfoy had been waiting for them, his son a shadow behind him in the hallway. He lifted a heavy newspaper in their direction, yet another bold headline offered to antagonize Hermione. She read the words, read them again, each iteration of the same smattering of letters causing fragments of black to edge in from the corners of her eyes. “<em> No More No. 2” </em>joined by a photograph of Ron. He looked gaunt, cheekbones sallow and hair overgrown from their weeks on the run as he looked the photographer head on, roaring repeatedly as the image played over and over. </p><p>If Hermione hadn’t known any better, if she hadn’t known who he was, she would have stereotyped this man a common criminal, a man who had damn near lost his mind. A pang sliced through her heart as she reached out, running a finger over the imprint as he lunged toward her yet again, and she let the black completely take over.</p><p>Thus she found herself here, eyes watering and trained on the ceiling. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, or how she had even gotten back to her sham of a prison cell; the only thing she was sure of in that moment were the bleak implications of the headline Lucius had been so anxious to present to her. If they had Ron, he was either dead already or better off so. The thought had left her with yet another thing she wasn’t sure of… Which outcome was worse. It also begged the question of what had happened to Harry, arguably the most important part of their trio, but she found the smallest sliver of solace in the lack of a headline.</p><p>She let the hours slip by in a myriad of tears and fitful rest, waking atop a wrinkled duvet with a headache aggravating her left temple. She stood on shaky legs, sneaking through the Manor as best she could given her unfamiliarity of the maze of hallways on a good day, let alone in the dark. She fumbled her way to the dining room and through the far end where she had seen Tippy and other house elves coming and going with metallic trays, assuming it either was the kitchen or would give her a direct path to at the very least. </p><p>The door swung closed behind her and her bare feet hit icy tile, a pattern of obsidian and ivory patchworked across the floor, steel appliances glimmering through the dark. She found the complete normalcy of it to be slightly jarring, as familiar to her as any Muggle kitchen might be, albeit more shiny and infinitely more expensive, if she had to hazard a guess. She began opening cabinets until she came upon the one housing the glasses, and removed one to fill beneath the faucet, the coolness of the water soothing her nerves. </p><p>She felt her headache begin to ebb away as she drained half the glass, holding the icy surface to her forehead to alleviate the rest of the pain. Hermione was leaning heavily against the sink when she heard the door swish open behind her, causing her to jump and drop the cup, glass shattering against the steel of the basin. Fight or flight instincts kicking in - and she shocked even herself by her intuition to <em> fight </em> - and she grabbed the largest fragment of glass in the sink and whirled toward the figure crossing the kitchen in her direction.</p><p>“Are you planning on slicing me to death, Granger?” Draco held his hands up in mock surrender but he continued his path toward Hermione, stopping mere inches from where she had the shard of glass held out in front of her. Adrenaline pumped in her ears, the headache returning in full force, as Draco reached above her to the cupboard she had left ajar, plucking his own glass from the shelf. “When all I’ve done is come down for a glass of water?”</p><p>“Did you give the servants a night off?” Hermione retorted out of habit, lowering the glass in her hand and taking note of the trickle of blood that had begun running down her wrist from where the piece of glass had cut into her palm as she gripped it. </p><p>“Didn’t feel right to pull them from their current task of keeping my bed warm.” Draco said, filling his glass and draining it in one fell swoop. He filled it a second time and mirrored her posture from moments before, leaning both forearms against the onyx marble countertop, staring down into the rippling surface of the water. </p><p>Hermione tsked but didn’t make to leave, choosing rather to fetch another glass to fill before stepping away from him, turning to lean against an island opposite him. She found herself studying him, aware suddenly that he was bare from the waste up; silvery blonde hair curling against the base of his neck, sinewy muscles carved across his shoulders, and two indentations dimpling his lower back.</p><p>“We have a portraitist on retainer if you’d like me to give them a call,” Draco spun to face her, and Hermione positioned her glass in front of her face to hide the guilty blush she knew was inevitable. “It’s extra for nudes. I’m sure you can’t afford it.”</p><p>“Are you always so crass or is it only when your Death Eater friends aren’t around to put you in your place?” Hermione asked. She watched as his jaw clenched, face turning stony. Now that he was facing her, she drank him in from this perspective; she couldn’t deny that he had handsome features, but the boyish swagger he wore like a cloak at Hogwarts had been replaced by purple rings beneath his eyes, an almost ashen tinge to his already pale skin. </p><p>“Glass houses, Granger. Your wit isn’t nearly so quick either when my <em> Death Eater friends </em>are around,” Draco responded, but she noted the way he seemed to grit out the ‘friends’ descriptor.</p><p>“Would you not consider them your friends?” Hermione asked him, one brow raised. She nodded in the direction of his naked forearm, the Dark Mark carved into otherwise unmarred flesh. “Is that not what that means? ‘Blood brothers’ and all that?”</p><p>“Give it a rest, it’s 3 in the morning,” Draco said, downing the rest of his water and setting the glass gently into the sink amongst the shattered remains of her own. “Far too early for that conversation.”</p><p>“Give it a rest, Malfoy? Really?” Her tone had taken on a high-pitched incredulity, another wave of anger coursing through her veins at the suggestion. “I’m a prisoner in this house. I’m being sold off to Tiberius Nott like some sort of prized chattel. One of my best friends is likely <em> dead </em>. And who knows what’s happened to the other. But, sure, I’ll give it a rest because you’re too tired to contemplate whether the band of brothers you’ve decided to align yourself with are your friends or not.”</p><p>“I suppose it really was too much to hope that you had become less irritating while you were out camping with Potter and Weasel,” Draco said. His signature smirk was back, “Maybe once Tiberius Nott has his hands on you, he can fuck the insufferable out of you.”</p><p>Hermione’s jaw dropped before she could stop it, her teeth clacking as she snapped it shut seconds later. A roaring had begun in her ears as she stomped forward, her hand arcing through the air to land a blow against the smooth expanse of his cheek. He reached up and caught it, his grip tight around hers, crushing the bones of her fingers between his own. </p><p>“You think I’d let this happen again after third year? Not a fucking chance,” Draco hissed, their faces inches from each other. She glared at him, breath coming out in frantic gasps as she latched her other hand onto his shoulder and lifted her knee swiftly, this time making her mark before he had a chance to stop it. He groaned an expletive and released her hand, twisting back to lean against the counter with one hand, the other cupped around his groin. </p><p>“Go fuck yourself, Malfoy,” Hermione spat at him as she ran out of the kitchen, unable to stop the fresh welling of tears against her eyelids. <em> And go fuck yourself too, Plan B. </em></p><p> ✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>The pillow was damp beneath her cheek as she lifted her head, eyes practically swollen shut from a night of tossing and turning and crying every moment in between. As the drapes were still drawn, it took Hermione a moment to place what had awoken her, until the light tapping at her door finally registered. She grumbled incoherently and the door creaked open, revealing nothing but the tips of two leathery ears flopping toward her around the edge of the bed.</p><p>“Missus Narcissa says Tippy is to help you ready for the ball tonight,” Tippy squeaked, wide eyes gleaming and tiny hands folded in front of her chest expectantly. </p><p>Hermione grumbled again and buried her head in the pillow. Ball. Tonight. With all of the Malfoys acquaintances in attendance. Including Tiberius Nott. Unfamiliar rage balled in her fists and she slammed both against the silk sheets.</p><p>“Excuse me? Miss?” Tippy squeaked again, pulling Hermione from her temper tantrum as the house elf gestured to a tray on the bedside table. “I brought tea service. Coffee too, Missus Narcissa insists.”</p><p>Hermione nodded sullenly, pushing herself to a sitting position and catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror poised over the dresser across from the bed. She looked downright dreadful; her hair ratted against the back of her head, cheeks and eyes swollen with salt, her typically smooth skin had taken on a ruddiness that she knew they would be hard-pressed to get rid of by that evening. </p><p>“Coffee first. Then bath. Then we get ready.” Hermione rattled and Tippy nodded along, already pouring the deep brown liquid into a porcelain mug. </p><p> ✥   ✥   ✥</p><p>
  <span class="u"> Chapter Four: Draco’s Addendum </span>
</p><p>The edge of the countertop dug into the flesh of Draco’s palm as he leaned against it, his breath coming heavy as the pain between his legs throbbed once more. He vaguely registered the words she spat in his direction as she stomped out, a standard <em> go fuck yourself </em>. As if he hadn’t heard that a hundred times over from other witches at school. </p><p>If he hadn’t been so fucking annoyed at her getting the better of him, <em> again </em>, he would have laughed at her derision. And he knew the exact delivery, from length to octave, that would drive her absolutely mad. He had begun to practice during their second year; it had taken him exactly two years to perfect it, and one more following to realize what that meant. Any great philosopher could tell you there was a thin line between love and hate, and he had been standing on that precipice by himself with Granger for nearly five years.</p><p>The hate came easy and far more abundantly, insults at her expense on his behalf bringing him a masochistic pleasure and a tide of self-loathing in equal measure; the love far less frequent and always accompanied by said tide of self-loathing, the strength of it magnified, threatening to choke the life out of him. Could that count as love or was it a mere facsimile? More often than not, he shrugged it off. He didn’t like to dwell on matters of the heart when matters of the head were far more fun.</p><p>And therein lay the problem. There she was, in his house, a stone’s throw away at all times, making the avoidance of dwelling near impossible. After following her noisy path from kitchen to bedroom, pressing an ear against her door to listen to the telltale sound of sobs for a moment before passing onto his own, he lay with his fingers intertwined over his bare chest, staring at the ceiling and fucking <em> dwelling </em>. </p><p>Dwelling over the harsh words he had gifted her in the kitchen, over the fact that they reminded him that Tiberius Nott would be having his way with her in the span of a few short months, over the fact that she was even here in the first place, over the fact that he wanted to save her, wanted to be her knight in shining armor, but he hated himself for it, for wanting what he wanted, and he hated himself for hating himself, too.</p><p>“<em> Fuck </em>,” he muttered into the empty dark, hands splayed over his face, a frustrated groan escaping his esophagus as he pressed his fingertips into his eyes. He dug in until he saw stars, releasing the pressure and blinking them away. If he had hoped for a reprieve, he got exactly none. Yet another item to add to the list of things to dwell on - of all the gods damned witches in the sea, he had somehow become partial to the human equivalent of the giant squid.</p><p>He shut his eyes and crossed his hands over his chest once more. </p><p>In recent months, Draco had begun an exercise of envisioning his life as his father had planned in vain attempts to rid himself of any kind thought of Granger. One of the Greengrass sisters, or a Parkinson cousin, or some other variation of a pureblood penthouse princess on his arm, a Malfoy family diamond glimmering on her finger. They would reside in the country estate, having a plethora of pureblood babies to keep their parents happy. Their lives would lack spontaneity but be unbelievably cush, inevitably ending with a bored housewife day drinking and popping magically modified pills to fill her head with air, and he would drink whiskey neat until his vision blurred and he was drunk enough to want to fuck his wife. Only from behind though, so he could imagine it was Granger as he crossed the finish line.</p><p>His eyes popped open at the unwelcome thought and he reached down, balling his sheets between his fists as Hermione’s sentiment from earlier echoed back to him, telling him to go fuck himself. He released the fabric clutched between his fingers, left hand migrating between his legs and down his trousers. He would have been ready for her if she were there, but one stroke revealed the tenderness caused by her knee in the kitchen. </p><p>
  <em> Go fuck yourself, Malfoy.  </em>
</p><p>And why not? He was fucked either way.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>